


eyes on fire

by havisham



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Class Issues, Creeper Elias, Do Not Archive (The Magnus Archives), Epistolary, M/M, Other, Season/Series 01, Statement Fic, Time Loop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:14:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22319197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havisham/pseuds/havisham
Summary: Jonathan reads a letter to Jonah Magnus and Elias eats with his eyes.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard & Jonathan Sims, Jonah Magnus/Original Male Character
Comments: 10
Kudos: 77





	eyes on fire

There was a box of letters on Jon’s desk when he returned from lunch. His first reaction to seeing them was a feeling of exasperation — how could he be expected to put the Archives in order if new statements were constantly showing up, without rhyme or reason? If only his predecessor, Gertrude Robinson, had bothered sticking with a standard filing system…

But Jon’s irritation vanished when he opened the box and saw that the letters contained within were very old. He delicately unfolded the one on top, he saw that it was faded and watermarked — the date was indistinct but it was addressed to Jonah Magnus.

He was about to call out to Martin to witness what could only be an important look into the life of their illustrious founder. But his voice died in his throat as his eyes skimmed at the bottom of the page. _Oh._

Martin didn’t need to read this.

A tape recorder began to record. Jon cleared his throat and began to read.

> Case: 0145636
> 
> Name: Adelphi Scott
> 
> Subject: A letter sent to Jonah Magnus of a dubiously supernatural incident witnessed by one Adelphi Scott, self-described gentleman.
> 
> Date: Unknown, early 19th century
> 
> Recorded by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London
> 
> My dearest Jonah,
> 
> Let me assure you from the first that this is not a letter meant to reproach you for any perceived slight that I feel you have visited upon me, nor complaints about your callous disregard for my person or peace of mind. I believe most of your letters are of that kind and I do not wish to be taken in that matter.
> 
> That you are always eager to receive dispatches concerning the odd and unnatural is well-known to me, but alas, I have never had the occasion to write to you on that subject— my life has been exceeding dull in that aspect. Nothing I have witnessed has given rise to the dreadful doubt in the world’s essential soundness that seems to be the greatest hallmark of the letters and accounts you so eagerly court.
> 
> I know that you have strongly suggested that I join your infant institute to help assemble your grand mission of making sense of the senseless. However, I must always decline, as I am a gentleman who could never countenance the prospect of employment, not even to you, Jonah. I know you have suggested that I skip over the matter of a payment altogether — thus not being employed at all. What a jokester you are! Unpaid labor for mere prestige, why I do hope such a thing does not catch on.
> 
> I thank you for such an opportunity, but I must decline again.
> 
> Besides, I enjoy traveling and have no desire to linger in your house until your grand institute finds its permanent home. But when you have it all arranged to your satisfaction, I will certainly pay you a visit.
> 
> By now, I know you have skipped over all the previous paragraphs, searching impatiently for the point of this letter. Is there such a point? Well, skip no more. Here is a point — I have finally have an incident that I must share with you.
> 
> You know Lord D—, of course, who was both your friend and mine. I met him for dinner one night last month and he informed me of the existence of a new and secretive club where some of the best and brightest in society had come to partake in such desires that even I blush to commit to paper. I hope, Jonah, you must make this letter not available for public perusal — I have censored names but nothing else.
> 
> “Lord D—,” I exclaimed, “please take me along with you the next time you visit this mysterious club, for I am badly in need of distraction.”
> 
> “My dear Scott,” said Lord D—, “I cannot accompany you this time, as my wife requires me to do my legal duty in the countryside. However, I will certainly give you the introduction necessary to enter the club. Then you may see it all.”
> 
> It took me a few weeks before I was able to put my introduction to good use. The club was not located in some far-flung corner of the metropolis, hiding among the wretched or abandoned in society — no, it fit quite snugly along other such clubs that could be frequented by people like you and I. I daresay that inside those neighboring institutions, there could be such scenes that I have now witnessed and none outside their walls would be the wiser.
> 
> You are lucky then, Jonah, that I was your eyes and ears for what happened inside this club, for what I witnessed could easily slide into your archive with the greatest of ease.
> 
> I knocked on the door with some trepidation for the knocker resembled nothing more than a large, gaping mouth that one had to reach into to bang a row of brass teeth against the brass tongue. One could fancy the feeling of a hot breath against your fingers and I could have sworn, Jonah, someone licked my hand.
> 
> The door knocker was welded into the door, which seemed to be made of thick slabs of wood. There was no reason to believe anyone could have possibly licked my hand. Nonetheless, the door opened and I was beckoned inside, I entered with some feeling of dread. I presented Lord D— ‘s letter to the grey-faced butler who read it with no comment or change of expression. He then led me into the twisting hallway, which opened into a stairway which went further and further into the earth.
> 
> While the way was wide enough and the air not particularly close, I couldn't help but think of our friend Smirke’s pleasant experiments into the building and design, and his theories of their connection with the Powers that move through the Earth. The building that housed this club was old, very old -- the timbers shivered as we trod on them -- and the whole thing was eldritch. Very eldritch. Jonah, I know you scoff at the faery tales that our grandsires loved to share, but could not some of those tales share the same root as the accounts that you so eagerly collect?
> 
> I thought of cities under the hill, of old and buried gods. They seemed less charming to me now than they had when I was a child. The grasp of the earth and the terrors of the age had not made their presence known to me then, I suppose.
> 
> In any case, I soon found myself conducted to low, subterranean chamber filled with gentlemen and ladies of all sorts, from the highest in the country to those who you wouldn’t deign to look at on the street, much less greet. The people mixed freely and were in various degrees of dress.
> 
> Now, Jonah, I know what you are thinking. Have I just tricked you into reading a lewd letter with no supernatural incidents at all? Not at all --”

Jon glanced up and saw that Elias had come into his office and was standing perfectly still, his eyes bright. _Go on_ , he mouthed the words. _Don’t stop on my account._ That rankled. Of course Jon wouldn’t have stopped just for Elias’ sake. What was he doing here anyway?

As if he’d read Jon’s mind, Elias held up a requisition form solemnly and indicated that he had some questions about it. Hardly important enough to interrupt a statement. He frowned as Elias took a seat opposite of him, apparently deciding to wait Jon out. _Wanker._

Jon frowned and read on.

> If it was merely an orgy, I would not have bothered writing to you, as I know that you are content to only watch such happenings from afar and would not be appalled or even interested in the brutally human activity of fornication. But the attendants of this club did more than that. I have told you that the people were already in various states of dress, and so they were. As the night wore on, naked flesh became more and more common.
> 
> I do not recall very clearly who was the first person I saw delicately peel off their skin, but perhaps it was the fair-skinned young woman with flaming red hair. She was smiling when she did and I watched, fascinated, as she seemed to shed her earthly raiment as easily as pulling off a shift. There was curiously little blood involved. I wonder why? Was she not entirely human in the first place?
> 
> But once she had started, I saw a man, one I recognized, Mr. S—, untie his cravat and then, almost idly, plunge his hand deeper into his throat, pulling out his tonsils and then examine them with mild curiosity.
> 
> Another man, in midst of coitus, seemed to push himself into his partner. I could not tell whether their mingled cries were of pleasure or pain. Perhaps, in truth, it was both.
> 
> While all of this was happening, I wandered around, my eyes never straying from the grotesque scenes I witnessed. Jonah, the things that were being perpetuated should have killed those who tried it, but they moved and laughed and fucked as if they had no use for their skin, for their organs or their entire corporal form.
> 
> It was, needless to say, rather disturbing.
> 
> But then, Jonah, the worst had yet happened. One by one, those damned souls began to focus their attention on _me_.

Jon looked up and saw that Elias was still there. His mouth was open slightly, his eyes slightly glazed, as if he was lost in some memory. Had he fallen asleep with his eyes open? But then he blinked and closed his mouth.

Elias focused his gaze on Jon. “Do go on.”

“Do you need something, Elias? You’re interrupting a statement.”

“A statement to Jonah Magnus himself! It must be an exciting discovery for you, Jon.”

“It wasn’t a discovery. Someone left it on my desk.”

“Oh?” There were many ways to say “Oh?” and not seem as utterly guilty of something. Elias did not seem to know this.

Jon said, slowly, “Did you put these letters here, Elias?”

Elias scoffed. “Of course not, Jon. This seems like a fairly standard statement of that sort. Adelphi Scott will show up in other statements besides the one you have. A rather foolish man, from what I’ve gathered. And very handsome -- until the accident. But I am interrupting you -- please continue.”

“I’ll wait,” Jon said, putting down the letter. The tape recorder kept recording. Elias sighed and stood.

“If you would confirm the changes on the requisition form, I would be _so_ grateful, Jon.”

Once Elias’ back had disappeared through the door, Jon turned his attention back to the letter, eager to get to the end. His throat itched and he felt uneasy. It felt as though Elias was still there, watching him with that strangely avid stare. It wasn’t a good thing, when Elias took an interest in things. Jon knew that already. Did Elias get off on Georgian porn? Was that his kink, nineteenth century men being assaulted by maddened crowds?

> They began to grab at me, trying to strip me of my clothes and my skin. I didn’t scream -- the entire time, I was preternaturally calm. I knew that I could not stay in this place, but I also knew that losing my presence of mind would doom me.
> 
> No words of encouragement or seduction moved me to press my own flesh with those around me. Instead, I drew away, looking always for the door that I had come through when I entered this dreadful place. Once I found it, I ran to it, but not before someone grabbed my hand. I felt my hand shift under this person’s grip, as if it was a loose glove.
> 
> I booted them in the chest to get away. There was the door -- I ran through it without thinking any further about it. I had been sure that I remembered the way up, but the stairs seemed to multiple and the way redoubled and tripled as I went on. I saw other doors on my way, which I had not observed going down. I did not open any of them. Something told me not to.
> 
> Finally, after what seemed hours of wandering, I came to a door. I knew that this was the door that would lead me out, but it had no knob that I could turn. I felt complete despair at that moment, before I realized that the door did have something on it. A hole, big enough to put one’s face through. I decided to look through it, to see if the door actually led outside -- though I could not heart the sound of the street, nor see any light coming out of the hole.
> 
> I went on my knees and pressed my face against the hole.
> 
> As soon as I had done so, I found that I could see nothing -- the hole was smaller than I thought, exactly level to my mouth. When I tried to move away, I found that I could not. I felt my mouth open to scream, but no sound came out. Only my mouth hung open, gaping and vulnerable. Something -- someone -- reached into my mouth. I felt the brush of fingers against my tongue -- it tasted bitter, those fingers. And then after a surge of incredible violence, I felt the terrific pain of my teeth being crushed against my tongue.
> 
> I screamed. I howled. I was finally able to wrench my face free and the door swung open, letting me fall out into the busy London street outside. I attracted many stares of derision and pity as I made my way back home. I was totally indifferent to them. If I saw anyone who knew me, I do not know. My mouth felt as if it was filled with blood, but when I tried to feel around for damage, I could feel none.
> 
> My actions could not have made me seem more sane for the people watching me with censorious eyes, but I was beyond them now.
> 
> When I finally arrived home, my valet informed me that I had been missing for three days. When I reached out to Lord D— for further information on that damned club, I was informed that the poor man was dead. Apparently the countryside violently disagreed with him, or at least whatever overturned his carriage and threw his body into the hedge grove did. Alas. He was a good patron to me, besides his last, disastrous recommendation.
> 
> Please let me know if you have any further questions of my encounter.
> 
> I remain your most humble servant,
> 
> Adelphi Scott, Esq.
> 
> P.S. I have already foreseen your accusation that I have made the whole thing up, so I included a clipping of the newspaper that reported a large house-fire that destroyed the very place I had escaped from. They said that the place had had many uses in its long life, but most interestingly, as an underground warehouse for the dead during the last outbreak of plague in 1665.

“Well, it sort of fizzled in the end, didn’t it?” Jon muttered to himself. “I haven’t had a chance to research the life of Adelphi Scott, but his name does show up in early papers of the Magnus Institute, so I suppose Jonah Magnus did manage to persuade him to join. I wonder why his attitude changed? Should be something Sasha or Tim can check on.

As for the narrative, if true -- well, I would’ve liked to read Jonah Magnus’ reply, but letters _from_ him are … rare. Well, as for Adelphi … He got out of the maze all right, anyway. Mostly all right. Hm. Nevermind.”

After a reflective pause, Jon picked up the requisition form that Elias had left for him.

It was completely blank.

**Author's Note:**

> Oof, this was kind of hard to format. I originally went with italics, but found it harder to read. 
> 
> Well, the title is from [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YGAKiiUpvJ0), which, never mind Twilight, is as good Elias & Jon song as possible. Thanks for readin'.


End file.
